Immaturity at its Finest
by egochan
Summary: Ryuuji discovers immaturity rarely ever dies, but only goes partly dormant when it is by no means acceptable. Why can't everyone just grow up already? not a sugarhigh fic


** Disclaimer:** Wow, I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. Go figure.

**Note: **Erm, another Ryuuji fic? ::ducks random fruits and vegetables:: I should be working diligently on my term paper right now, but I'd rather write fan fiction and hide from people who get too moody during presidential elections…. ::pouts:: My dad has his own way of PMSing, and it's every three-four years.

** Thanks:** MarmaladeGirl for beta reading and putting more time into correcting this fic's terrible grammar than I spent writing it the first time around. Huza! This fic is also dedicated to my little brothers (kawaii!) because the title defines their idea of nirvana perfectly (ouch, was that a double implication? ::leers at grunge band cds::).

Also, some extra typos may be accredited to me for messing with the fic a bit after Marm sent it back. ::looks around nervously:: Just so you don't blame her there. I just didn't like some parts of this after re-reading it.

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-Immaturity at its Finest-

You know you're emotionally (maybe intellectually) unstable to a certain extent when you fall to pieces in the "express" lane at the supermarket. It's also quite obvious when you have the words "calm down, kisama" carved into your work desk and have a sinking suspicion you put it there in a fit of rage and self-frustration. People will describe you to your face as self-assured, out-spoken, motivated, and passionate about appearances; and then, just as easily go on about how egocentric, dominating, obnoxious, and exasperating you are behind your back. You light up the room by knocking the other lights out first. You argue your point, defend pragmatic convictions, and feel a part of you die when you aren't right the first time around. Your world is a shinning example of how thing _should_ be, but fail to present themselves. You will be the one person in the right when no one's certain, and you will be well informed on everything. Reality is an overstated, improbable place of existence you find it hard to survive in without your head sticking out the window for some fresh air as you drive through life. You have windows rolled down and full steam ahead least you suffocate in the restraint of the world's unbearable, belittling authenticity. You don't need to get stuck in facing off nothing at all, and realized your fight against everything hasn't really meant anything to anyone at all. Before you know what's happened, you've booked an afternoon meditation class, something you haven't participated in since childhood. You hope for tranquility, you grow impatient, and suddenly you're stout in a pessimistic belief nothing works for you. A sardonic outlook takes over, and no matter how charming you can be when things are looking up, you're always waiting in the back of your mind for them to go down in a never-ending, painful cycle. You win some; you lose a lot, and look out at the world as one giant challenge to your intelligence. _That's_ when you know you're emotionally unstable.

Ryuuji was quite confident he wasn't completely gone yet (express line incident and stress relieving vandalism aside). Really. He still had a decade or two till he signed up for meditation.

"So, you're going to expand on Black Clown?"

Ryuuji nodded at this with a grin, twirling his hair confidently. The associate looked at him uncertain, not sure what the young man was trying to accomplish. He was mentally preparing his speech to the tabloids that Otogi Ryuuji had gone completely insane.

"Black Clown _Domino_ no longer exists, but I do gain a profit from Black Clown Yokohama." Ryuuji reminded him.

"There's more than one?"

"Of course."

"Oh, then this might work…."

…And so Otogi Ryuuji became the proud owner of a retailing company, as well as sole proprietor to D-D-D. If he had been emotionally unstable, none of that would have happened.

Or so Yuugi-tachi kept repeating to themselves when they heard about it later.

"With the extra work, that convention next week, and his standard intelligence, that baka is never going to make it out alive." Seto stated firmly to a fascinated chair and an empty office. He had no idea what it was meant to accomplish. There was no affirmation from the furniture. Not that he wanted any, though. There was nothing wrong about talking to yourself, as it was a sign of intelligence.

It was _answering_ yourself that made you insane.

And why would an emotionally scarred, prone to homicidal tendencies, fantastically rich and successful business leader with a major international gaming convention next week ever succumb to insanity?

There was a thin line between genius and crazy (to allude to the cliché). It was better to assume Seto was the happy exception. The same basically went for Ryuuji as well.

"You don't understand my question. Please, let me reiterate that for you: What is my _coffee_ doing all over the _filing cabinet_?" Ryuuji asked dangerously, stressing the key nouns to imply his furthering disbelief.

"Yeah, about that…." Honda trailed, hoping to somehow avoid the question by not answering (when, technically he was. To answer was to respond, and he had fulfilled some of the requirements. Unfortunately, either Ryuuji didn't realize this, or he preferred the elaboration, which involved coming up with a solution).

"Hm?"

"Er, you _really_ ought to consider putting those dice away after you shoot them, Ryuuji. A guy could trip and break his neck," Honda chose to retaliate, thus ignoring the fact there were no dice presently on the floor.

"Really?"

"Ano…."

Honda was soon fleeing from the room as three dice hit him in the face consecutively. The helpless case of idiotic excuses gone, Ryuuji glared at his new mess.

"Bakatare," he sighed and shook his head. What did he have to do to get the brunette to behave at least the slightest bit decent? All Ryuuji was guilty of doing was asking for a warm, caffeinated beverage, not a room refurbishing of coffee stains. Nothing would ever get the exciting new shade of dirt hazelnut out. The longer Ryuuji stared at it, the deeper it stabbed into his very being, giving him an unwanted reminiscence of Honda's hair: large, brown, and painful to look at.

New carpet was definitely in order for the immediate future.

It was almost a shame. Him and Honda had gone a record time of six weeks without replacing anything besides a washing machine, a questionable Venus flytrap, and Ryuuji's cell phone (which had been successfully called and located under the bathroom sink—Ryuuji made a specific point of not asking about it). Ryuuji had been as good a sport as possible under the circumstances. It was becoming more often that his furious tirades carried five blocks and not five miles. That was no small goal. You could smell Los Angeles from Santa Fe on a windy day. {A} It wasn't Ryuuji fault his voice carried well under certain conditions.

Ryuuji sighed and repressed a sudden desire to hunt down Honda and bang his head into the wall, focussing his energy instead into locating a towel. You had to act quickly when there was coffee slowly obeying the laws of physics and heading for the floor. Ryuuji kept himself successfully preoccupied for the next few minutes making sure the crime scene was once again immaculate. He made a mental resolution to never allow Honda to so much breathe in his office ever again. All ideas about moving out of the bedroom he and the brunette shared and moving his office to a corner in the front room evacuated the game inventor's mind in single file. He did not trust his friend anywhere near his desk for fear of having a similar incident occur on a more radical scale.

"Let me guess, I'm banned from your office?" Honda asked as Ryuuji opened his mouth to give the exact same command.

"Hai," he growled, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

"What about my e-mail?"

Ryuuji glared and ignored this. Maybe he'd consider that the day Honda had a job that didn't consist of a phone and the Domino directory? What was the brunette selling again? Mortgage plans? Or was it computer software? Both?

"I need the computer."

"No you don't." Ryuuji snapped, though it didn't make any sense. Honda was right because that was his pathetic means of existence. He was a strange bird. He got bored with jobs quicker than it took Ryuuji's shrieks of rage to reach Kansai International and distort the sound systems on a warm day.

"Yes, I do."

"Iya."

This was the promising start to a grade school argument between the two young men. Once again it was proven immaturity rarely ever dies, only goes slightly dormant when it is by no means acceptable. Of course, Ryuuji and Honda were in truth rather resistant to the acting grown up idea when it came to personal standoffs. Neither felt his intelligence was being considerably challenged.

"We need another computer." Honda, the genius, finally stated after thirty minutes of 'Yes, I do,' and 'Uh, no you don't.'

"I'm not paying for that, or the electricity."

"Don't be stupid, you can afford it."

"No, you have to pay for your own computer, or get another job. I'm not taking care of you."

Honda shook his head and stood up. The television, still playing mindlessly in the background, broke out into the final frenzied segments of the William Tell Overture. On cue, the brunette made a dash for Ryuuji's office. The game inventor stared at him blankly as realisation took it's own sweet time. Honda was five feet from the door as Ryuuji leaped after him to defend the computer and filing cabinets.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Ryuuji had the brunette tackled before he entered the sacred domain. Honda struggled, laughing as he tried to make he way to the door. Ryuuji, vehement in his determination to keep Honda out, shrieked and resorted to what he deemed the worst punishment acceptable under God: hair pulling.

"You're not (yank) going in to (sound of hair ripping out) my—ahhhhh!"

Honda successfully knocked the rabid young man off with a well-coordinated shift in balance. This left Ryuuji watching in horror from the floor as Honda shot up and flipped the light switched to the office, thereby announcing his victory.

"You know, maybe you don't deserve the computer if you can't defend it?"

Ryuuji glared and didn't say anything. He ignored the obvious childishness in their current situation. They were acting like freshmen. What happened to the practical, collected adult? Had it eloped with sanity and booked a two-month honeymoon suite in Paris? If so, why? What was the reason?

"Damare!" Ryuuji snapped, standing up and storming off to the bedroom. Honda didn't understand the significance of this 'til he heard the lock click.

"You _did_ _not_ just lock me out of the room!"

"Hey, you don't have to catch a plane to San Francisco tomorrow morning." Ryuuji replied through the door, "I need my sleep and you're deterring me from it."

Honda watched the closed door helplessly at this. He toyed with the notion of knocking it down, but then it would have to be replaced. That would cost him money. In then end, all there was to blame was Ryuuji's annoyingly juvenile tendencies. What was mature about locking someone out of his room, he might ask? Ryuuji had no right whatsoever to refer to himself as the intelligent one any longer. He was, if anything, worse than the brunette.

"Then where am I going to sleep?"

"We have a couch, don't we?"

Honda pouted slightly, not wishing at all to sleep on the couch but left with no other alternative. He frowned and sat in front of the television, suddenly not the least bit tired. Ryuuji could hear him surfing the channels as he prepared for an abbreviated five-hour night's sleep. Thanks to Honda, he was going to be groggy on his way to the train station. Suddenly the next day looked bleak; mind-numbing hours of endless travelling to reach San Francisco and prep for a three-day convention from Hell. Ryuuji wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest, but since his game was so successful in the entertainment crazy America he felt it was required of him.

Something Honda failed to realize was that Ryuuji was very busy, much more so than his roommate. Ryuuji was often out of town on business and was convinced the brunette believe him to be having the time of his life. He wasn't. Though being a CEO to an up-and-coming retailing/gaming chain was financially quite virtuous, it was also a lot of hard work. He had to make sure things were running smoothly in their formative years and had to constantly keep up appearances for his investors. Conventions were crucial. They displayed how active he was in the business and could often prove reliable in meeting some very influential people.

Therefore, following this conviction, Ryuuji deserved the computer more than Honda for business reasons. Even if he already had a laptop, he needed the main computer as well.

And no, he wasn't being bigheaded or immature. Honda had fine-tuned his job-hunting skills until they had seemingly developed into a type of discipline. Ryuuji was sure the brunette would prove quite capable without.

"Can I have my toothbrush, Ryuuji?"

Hearing this, the game inventor sighed. He unceremoniously took his dice earring out and rolled his make-up free eyes (an odd image Honda hadn't considered even distantly imaginable until Ryuuji agreed to share their apartment). "It's only one night, your teeth aren't going to _fall_ _out_, Hiroto."

"Can I have my pajamas then?"

"You can catch up on your personal hygiene when I'm gone."

There was a small groan from the other side of the door as Honda gave up and trudged back to the front room. Ryuuji grinned once more at his freshly brushed teeth and left the bedroom's adjunct bathroom, effectively ignoring his roommate's suffering. He crawled into his separate twin bed and switched off the light. Unfortunately, Honda had a few more requests before Ryuuji was left in peace.

"Ryuuji, you asleep?"

Ryuuji glared into the darkness and rolled his eyes again.

"If I say yes, will you leave?"

"Good! You're awake."

Ryuuji sighed. Well, of course….

"What is it, Hiroto? You scared of the dark?"

"No, I just want to know how long you're going to be gone."

Ryuuji blinked, slightly taken aback by this and wondered irately why Honda didn't just curl up and lose consciousness already. He wasn't sure if he should answer or not incase it spurred another question. He _wanted_ to fall asleep. Unlike Honda, his tomorrow didn't consist of sitting around the house in a pathetic excuse for a job doing absolutely nothing.

"A week? {B} Why? You plan on having a wild party or something?"

Honda smirked, "You're going to trust me with your precious computer for a week?"

"Yes, it's not as if I have a choice."

Honda was laughing on the other side, though Ryuuji couldn't see what was so funny. He was not going to drag the computer along on the train or the flight. He'd look like an idiot with that kind of luggage—not to mention what the attendants would think about him on the _return_ trip. How low would someone go to bring monitor, printer—the whole kit and caboodle—on a two-way trip? Wasn't there technology made for that kind of frequent travel? Ryuuji was not about to demean himself so dramatically over an insignificant argument. His pride wasn't that obsessive to make him over-look what was the practical mode of action.

"What's so funny?"

"By the time you leave tomorrow, that chunk of hair you ripped out of my scalp would have meant nothing."

"I assumed you weren't planning on leaving the apartment anytime soon." Ryuuji snapped back, alluding to the fact Honda's 'job' hardly required him to do much. He was growing irritable.

"Leave me alone, I want to sleep! Annoy me when you've got the higher cash inflow." Ryuuji ordered angrily. Honda pouted on the other side of the door, nowhere near tired. His shifting positions kept Ryuuji from drifting to a well-earned slumber.

"Don't make so much noise!"

"What, I was only…."

"Urusai!" Ryuuji reminded him loudly, before locating his earplugs on the bedside cabinet and putting them in. Honda groaned in disappointment as he was ignored and trudged back to the front room to see how comfortable he could make the flat sofa. Ryuuji was the snappish, short-tempered one that misled people dared to refer to as 'charming' on his best days, and he got to lie down on a soft bed while his roommate suffered. There was something unfair about the whole thing.

But then, Ryuuji was the one who was going to suffer the convention. Honda had never been to anything of the sort, but judging by Ryuuji's heightened irritability whenever he returned from such things, he merely assumed they weren't any fun. It was better Ryuuji than him. Ryuuji could suffer.

Ryuuji's grin was fake. His salutations were lies. His alert exterior was completely caffeine induced. As he reached for a glass of punch, he repressed the urge to toss it into someone's face and make like hell the other direction, out the door, and into the ocean. That would be a nice tale of insanity for the tabloids, Otogi Ryuuji drowning in the San Francisco bay. You went straight to Hell for that kind of thing, heaven wasn't even considered. St. Peter wouldn't let you so much as _see_ the gates. Your two options were to burn like the drain on natural resources you are, or float around for the rest of whatever and _then_ burn like the drain on natural resources you are. It was a tragic fate, but Ryuuji was actually considering it as years of English language tried to retain their feeble hold on his mind. If he had been paying attention, the woman in front of him would have been making a lot more sense. Unfortunately, he was preoccupied with the tediousness of it all.

"You understand, don't you?"

"Of course!" he lied buoyantly, inadvertently clenching his glass and instituting a primitive attack stance long forgotten by mankind and not recognized among the rest of the party. "I imagine it would have changed something."

Ryuuji's comment was a vague one. Everything that happened changed something. That was one of those philosophical laws of reality. Plus, he said it like he'd _meant_ something, which was always good.

"Oh yes, we had to employ a whole new team for the project. The head of sales didn't agree, but I just put my foot down and he sure saw things differently!"

"Good for you." Ryuuji congratulated politely, not sure what she was talking about but reading a definite sense of pride in the accomplishment.

"You know, you ought to market more games than that dice dragon thing of yours." The woman continued, as the others in the group nodded along, "You could start yourself a large company. A lot of us would like to see KaibaCorp face some real competition for once in games. I mean, Seto Kaiba isn't even the best gamer in Japan. His was ousted by Yuugi Motou, right? He can't be _too_ strong."

"Ha—yes." Ryuuji corrected, wondering just what made his tentative expansion plans of any importance to the people he hadn't known existed past names on invitations until thirty minutes ago. He didn't enjoy being questioned and provoked into pointless debates over the multiplicity of companies he'd never heard of and would have lived his life happily without.

"Really? Well, my niece's husband has been developing an idea I'm sure you'll agree with, Mr. Otogi."

"What is it?" Ryuuji asked, only half interested.

"Think Roulette meets Go Fish."

Ryuuji's manufactured grin tried desperately to keep up an expression of amusement. The woman failed to see this and kept talking about the niceties of her nephew-in-law's new sport while Ryuuji felt like grabbing a pen and stabbing it into his brain. He pondered going back in time and killing off each and every one of his ancestors and the ancestors of those present to end it all completely. There would be no such thing as an Otogi Ryuuji to suffer the unjustified torture and no torturers to bestow their pain on more hapless victims.

It was an incredible phenomenon that no one noticed this slight modification of expression.

With his patience belting out mental hallelujahs, Ryuuji was at last granted some alone time later that evening, but not before his outlook on the once forgiving world was crushed. He was alone in his hotel room going to war with a laptop that wasn't in the mood to cooperate. Things were refusing to look up and it left him dizzy and asking why. This had been successfully cured, however, with a lethal dose of caffeine to the brain, which permitted Ryuuji to acquire just enough attentiveness to fix the malfunctioning technology and start checking his accounts and e-mail. The first thing he noticed was a note from Honda. Momentarily forgetting the argument three evenings prior {C}, Ryuuji clicked on it and (doing the obvious thing) read.

"You having fun, Ryuuji? Pick me up some of those airplane cashews on the way back, all right? I'm sure the flight attendant would be willing to spare something for you! XD"

Ryuuji frowned at this, appearing more annoyed that he really was. The frown was in fact a survival mechanism placed to deflect a growing smirk at Honda's stupidity. This method of diversion was often used in issues concerning the brunette, or when immaturity took over high command during a rather unrehearsed phrase in an official lecture (apparently the speaker hadn't been paying attention to the current innuendo). Ryuuji like to believe it made him look serious. If the subject were ever broached, Honda would have told him it looked like he was sucking on pickled plums (not very attractive, mind you). Fortunately, the "frown" was more often employed for Honda than anyone else, and the brunette had grown quite oblivious to whatever affect it was meant to produce.

"Bakatare." Ryuuji sighed at the computer screen and his roommate's memo, "Buy a plane ticket and get yourself your own cashews."

Surprisingly enough, there was no answer to this. He was completely alone—something that rarely happened when one shared an apartment with Honda Hiroto. Ryuuji had no idea what to do with himself for his next three evenings in the city. He knew nothing of the expanse of hills and cars that was San Francisco. After five past visits, it was truly amazing how little he cared to learn. His idea was to get in, get out, and hurry back praying Honda's new job hadn't involved fireworks and leaving him to find a pile of ashes instead of an apartment. It didn't matter that hurrah, Honda's alive—no, Ryuuji would scream and rant over the demise of his office. He'd miss his new paper clips, staplers, and ink cartridges—for they had never once been used.

After that, he'd kill Honda.

Dead.

Just because he might be arrested didn't make the plan of action any less desirable.

Suddenly the phone rang and Ryuuji dragged himself across the small room to answer it. His superior acting skills only went as far as his voice,

"Moshi moshi," he said brightly, glad he couldn't be seen over the phone.

"Oh sorry, is this a wrong number? I'm trying to reach a Mr. Ryuuji Otogi."

It was hard for Ryuuji to accept the fact not everyone spoke basic Japanese in America.

"This is him, go—sorry." Ryuuji quickly explained, tripping over his English. The fact it was nine o'clock at night probably held a certain significance in this.

"Oh, really?" the voice asked, amused. Ryuuji finally placed it as the woman who had nearly driven him insane during the convention earlier with her unexciting game ideas. Why would anyone consider fusing roulette and Go Fish besides the opportunity to rob a few kids of their hard earned allowance? Ryuuji was bold, but he wasn't crazy. The game had no chance. He hoped desperately she wasn't planning on going into further detail with that. Otherwise, he would have to do the natural thing and hang up, no matter how unsophisticated it sounded.

"Tomorrow the chauffeurs aren't going to be there to pick you up and take you to the convention site. There was some miscommunication between the information they received and the current schedule. You might have to get someone to drive you over. Cabs aren't deadly expensive, and it's a short trip. I'm safe to trust you are perfectly all right in taking care of yourself?"

"Yes," Ryuuji answered calmly. In his mind he was already ripping the hotel room to pieces and kicking in the mini refrigerator.

"All right then! See you tomorrow."

With the unusually peppy goodbye, the woman hung up. Ryuuji hoped she was exaggerating her words for a reason and repulsed him as much as he did her. It would make life a whole lot easier.

…The optimistic idea kept him from demolishing the hotel room.

Ryuuji wasn't the only one hunting down a cab the following morning. Half the residents at the hotel were for the convention. This annoyed him beyond all bounds. He had already been put off earlier by a pair of sand bags, which the hotel had so quaintly chosen to refer to as 'pillows'. His neck obviously wasn't going to kill him directly, but if his overdose of aspirin didn't kick in forty-five minutes, he'd more then contemplate suicide. To make things even worse, it seemed the instant he spotted a cab, the vehicle was gone. It flashed quickly through his mind that he could jump out in front of one and hope it either stopped or ended his misery.

As he imagined the scenarios, the latter grew morbidly more and more appealing.

"Shimatta!" Ryuuji heard someone exclaim in a familiar language. He turned around to see Kaiba Seto talking furiously into a cell phone as he entered his own cab. Without stopping to consider the consequences, Ryuuji slipped in the opposite door. His fundamental reasoning was that Kaiba was heading for the same place he was and they both shared the same country of origin. The billionaire simply couldn't turn him down.

It took the genius a few moments to become conscious of the fact that he wasn't alone. It took him even longer to recognise the flamboyant dress that was a first distinction of the eccentric game inventor/manager of his own retailing chain, Otogi Ryuuji. Putting his conversation on hold, he turned to his fellow passenger with a questioning glare.

"What do you want?"

"To get to the convention on time, like you. I've got hands to shake at ten."

Kaiba weighted the statement in his mind for a few seconds, understanding how Ryuuji was economizing the cab's capacity, but still not comfortable with the fact the young man was even there at all. However, being business minded, he allowed himself to agree with the reasoning and forced it to rule over his personal preferences. It was best not to have emotions prevail when it came to what was rational.

And it wasn't like Ryuuji was dangerous.

Nor was that even an issue.

"You're paying your fare then." Kaiba stated impassively, going back to the cell phone to resume colorfully turning down the ideas emanating from the other side of the conversation. Ryuuji looked at him blankly after a few hurtful remarks were thrown upon some desperate nobody's best efforts. He knew Kaiba could be heartless by word of mouth as well as personal observation. The person on the other line was given no chance, convincing Ryuuji that Kaiba was either planning on firing him or was talking to some kind of squabbling idiot who wasn't backing down. Both alternatives seemed equally believable as the discussion progressed.

"I do not want Kaiba Corp to be liable for the taxation on that kind of technology development. Our marketing strategies are going well. I'm having lunch with Isoto-san next week to discuss affiliation compromises. Maybe you could do something productive and _show_ _up_?"

There was an incoherent reply to this Ryuuji didn't bother to check.

"Isoto-san runs an American based firm. He knows the corporate by-laws. We're both willing to send a couple officers to New York for a few years…."

Though the conversation was in some mild aspects intriguing, this was about the time Ryuuji started fazing out of it. The technicalities were completely confusing, and therefore of minimal interest. He preoccupied himself with staring out the window and questioning the driver's sense of direction simply because he could. Of course, it wasn't like he was capable of transporting himself more efficiently, but it was nice to imagine such a thing was possible for a few, unrealistic seconds. It was by far much more fascinating than whatever business mergers and divisions Kaiba was droning on about.

In fact, Ryuuji had no distinct idea _what_ Kaiba was droning on about. The billionaire's voice was merely adding to the noise feebly making its way through the cab doors and windows. Ryuuji gave it all zero thought as he observed almost comic looking buildings climbing up and down the sides of the street. San Francisco had to be the worst place ever chosen to build a city near, or around, or directly on top of. Ryuuji figured if he had been planning things in their initial stages, he would have knocked all the hills down. But then, of course, he'd have to deal with the geographical affect on the environment, as well as the price and a whole mess of other things that could have been entirely avoided if nothing had ever been done in the first place. There could still be a San Francisco, certainly, only somewhere _else_. There had to be nicer spots. A few hills were perfectly all right, just not to excess.

And then there was the fact he could have sworn some of the "hills" where ninety-degree angles of ancient Native American walls that people had figured were the natural landscape.

But then, why would someone build a short wall that didn't protect much of anything?

Another question for the archeologists right there. They loved those types of things. Unfortunately, the only archeologists Ryuuji knew studied Egyptology. Little Bakura Ryou and his studies would do absolutely nothing for the West Coast. {D}

"Otogi-san, are you listening?"

No, he wasn't.

"What?"

Ryuuji faintly realized Kaiba was no longer on the phone.

…Not that this left him any substantial meaning.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you," Ryuuji sighed, "I'm trying to get to the convention site."

"After attending _one_ pre-convention seminar, you think you'll have something to say?" Kaiba asked in a belittling tone. Ryuuji shrugged, seriously not bothered by the billionaire's attitude. He wouldn't have to suffer long. They were less than five minutes from their destination.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You really are an idiot."

"What can I say?" Ryuuji smirked; easily deciding the comment wasn't enough to get offended over. "It works for me."

"Ch'."

Ryuuji was understandably relieved when him and Kaiba finally reached the convention and were able to go their own separate ways. Something about the billionaire's presence made someone want to run away as fast a possible or attack and send the haughty, disgruntled young man out of his misery and straight to Hell. Strangely enough, Ryuuji felt the compulsion to do both at once, which wasn't physically possible for anyone except some breeds of asexual organisms that could split in two and somehow organize both separate entities to complete the two endeavors. Of course, it wasn't anatomically likely Ryuuji would be duplicating himself anytime soon.

As the day wore on, Ryuuji discovered he had a strong dislike of sitting. Staring at people walking by and bored to tears, he rashly considered if modern medicine would somehow allow him, a simple professional game inventor, to clone his world-renowned appearance and have it take over for a bit. The idea was extremely appealing for the moment as he stared at the display across from him. The little robotic duel monsters and light shows had minimal affect on him as his mind traveled elsewhere. Ryuuji was quite aware of how immature he was behaving by not paying attention to the people praising the newest technology for D-D-D. In fact, he was probably acting worse than Bakura Ryou, who wasn't exactly buddy-buddy with reality. This, however, did not keep his thoughts from wandering far away for a while as he suffered the doldrums of an international gaming convention. {E}

"Well, someone sure looks sorry for himself. You look terrible."

Ryuuji blinked miserably up at Kaiba Seto and grunted. The billionaire was smirking, obviously in his element with another's suffering.

"I never look terrible." Ryuuji groaned, sitting up and stretching.

"Really? I can't think of many people who find deadpan expressions attractive."

Ryuuji glared at him, slightly annoyed and feeling like he'd just woken up. "That's because you don't know anyone," he retaliated mildly, too tired to care. Kaiba looked down at him with a patronizing expression and stepped aside to get a better look at some of the newest games and accessories Ryuuji had developed after D-D-D. He wasn't surprised almost all seemed to revolve around dice.

"So this is what you do with yourself?" Kaiba sneered, looking over the descriptions. "You make toys for elementary school children?"

"Hai," Ryuuji shrugged, not paying enough attention to take Kaiba's implied insult seriously. The billionaire should have counted himself lucky that the frequently explosive Ryuuji was in an unusually compliant mood. Honda would have been quite pleased if he'd ever seen his roommate at such a complete loss of concentration or concern.

"And since your tinkering lacks all challenging complexity, you're going to run marketing in game shops. That's why these people are asking you to advertise their second-rate products, is it not?"

Ryuuji frowned and nodded. Indeed, the woman who had been pestering him about roulette/Go Fish had actually felt quite invited. What she failed to realize, though, was that Ryuuji wanted to advertise his _own_ games, not her nephew-in-law's.

"Well, just remember, everyone my men turn down run to you."

"Then I guess I'll make my own games."

Kaiba scoffed at this. Ryuuji finally took the invitation to be annoyed and glared.

"I don't see you inventing anything as remarkably original as my dice games. You just organize the theme parks," he said smartly. Kaiba looked at him untouchably, and reminded himself he wasn't being forced to deal with the idiot. He didn't have to start anything serious, only leave a few cutting comments and be off on his merry old way.

"Hey, is anybody serving coffee around here?"

Kaiba raised an eyebrow inquiringly, curious to just why Ryuuji asked such a question. "It's noon," he stated blankly.

"So, coffee's an all day thing," Ryuuji informed him as he looked around, not as alert as he would have preferred to be at one in the afternoon. Seto mentally rolled his eyes, lost on why he was bothering to keep such inferior company.

"You know," Ryuuji said a bit sharply after studying the surrounding area, "You've brought every fancy gadget of yours to San Francisco except for a coffee maker. I mean that's just a flat out necessity. How come you overlooked it, being a genius and all?"

"I wouldn't bring a coffee maker to a game convention, baka."

"Why not?"

Kaiba began questioning the mentality of the young man in front of him at this. Of course, he was more than willing to assume all modern game inventors were in a level all their own on the crazy scale from one to ten. Didn't game inventors seem to lose their minds more often than other occupations? The job seemed very high risk and second only to Egyptology majoring game aficionados.

"Well, it doesn't look to me like you have a coffee maker on you right now."

"Actually, I do," Ryuuji answered insolently as Kaiba glared, "It broke yesterday morning and I'm suffering withdrawal."

"Then you should stay away from coffee anyway." Kaiba advised sagely. Ryuuji shook his head and gave Kaiba the infamous 'this reasoning with you is hopeless' expression. Coincidentally enough, Kaiba had been doing the exact same.

"You're not helping."

"Was I trying to?"

Ryuuji frowned and looked at Kaiba critically. No, the billionaire was not helping or humoring him. He was merely taking up time and space, frightening people off with his pretentious air. That clearly would not work for Ryuuji and his advertising. Ryuuji didn't enjoy the fact of Kaiba's presence and was emboldened in the desire to get the businessman far away as soon a possible. He wanted his contributions to be noticed and Kaiba needed to go hang out with a nice chatty blonde. That or a broken computer begging to be repaired by the technology expert, gift from God to mankind, substantially rich CEO people misguidedly worshiped as a new electronic age Messiah when he wasn't busy getting his ass kicked in card games. That's what Kaiba should have been doing. Unfortunately, it was not the reality of the situation. The best tactic to employ would be an offer extremely easy to turn down and break the conversation (though Ryuuji hesitated to call it a conversation in any means of the word he had ever heard. Whose conversations consisted of criticism and silence? It certainly wasn't a _pleasant_ little chat they had going). Ryuuji would make a meaningless offer, and Kaiba would take on his natural element of jerk-itude and quickly turn him down so as to walk off a living idol to his oh-so-famous lack of interest in everything. Ryuuji was of the basic assumption shared by half the business world: That Kaiba Seto worked so well with computers because he practically _was_ one in an odd sense, and could therefore emphasize with the malfunctions. Not that Kaiba himself ever malfunctioned, naturally, past certain leanings towards the homicidal. But this was also excused, as he was a teenager in those days with too much power and a lot of severely unbalanced hormones. Nothing was truly _Kaiba's_ fault, and it wasn't like he hadn't at least partly mellowed out since then.

"C'mon," Ryuuji ordered, abruptly grabbing Kaiba by the sleeve. "You're a genius, you've gotta know where I can find a Starbucks."

Kaiba glared and violently ripped his arm out of the moronically intrepid man's hands. Otogi Ryuuji must have had a death wish—that was it. He'd come to America to die and be thrown into San Francisco Bay with conspiracy abounding. It would be a nice dramatic touch to the otherwise pointless life of the young game inventor/sex god. It certainly wasn't a way Kaiba would have preferred to go, but it looked like that was what Ryuuji was asking for. It was hard to reason with the insane and Kaiba had decided during school that it wasn't useful in his occupation to be trained in psychoanalysis. The truly mad were up to their own defenses as Kaiba's understanding of people only did so much as to aide his position in smart-ass observations. His perception wasn't shallow, but it wasn't more profound than it needed to be. He didn't need to understand volumes about his underlings, and he embraced the fact willingly.

"What's wrong with you?" Kaiba asked, truly curious. He would make Ryuuji explain himself, profess his ulterior motive and allow it to be crushed.

"I'm coffee deprived, that's what."

Kaiba, being constantly under the influence of caffeinated substances, somewhat understood the need for caffeine. Still, he didn't think it should invoke such erratic behavior on Ryuuji's part. No, one would expect such a circumstance to slow the fool down for once in his rapidly shortening life.

"I'm not going with you for coffee right now."

"Why not?" Ryuuji asked, egging Kaiba on to be even more stubborn. The billionaire seemed ironically predictable for all his standoffish airs and disgruntled outlook. Ryuuji couldn't believe his luck. He was hoping Kaiba would snap at this final test and storm off, offended and disgusted at the dark-haired teen's outbursts. Ryuuji was a game inventor first, an _artist_ in a sense. He was allowed to act perfectly unreasonable when he wanted to. CEO's weren't. They were all the same conniving group of felons just waiting to have their illegal scheming revealed for the information-hungry media. Ryuuji was positive Kaiba had several underhanded business negotiations in his pocket, and it would only be a matter of time before he was turned in. In a system founded on capitalism, there where certainly enough criminals conning their way into the money and continuing to do so till they ended in a large corruption conspiracy. It was a demented cycle from an odd part of human nature wrought in laziness and a need for quicker gain. People were selfish, but then, why shouldn't they be? What else really mattered?

Ryuuji was sure many would argue the point against him, but he didn't care. If one were to take things practically, there was only survival of self. That's what made altruism such a big whoop, people mostly weren't very keen on the idea at their own will. Bakura Ryou was easily viewed as submissive and nearly effortless to manipulate as his supposed ignorance and drive to do good made him act in ways that classified him as noble and devoted, putting others before himself because he either didn't care for his well-being or didn't plan on blaming himself later (which didn't make sense, but Ryou seemed to have an uncanny ability to think so no matter what). A person like Kaiba Seto was nothing like Ryou and sure to be proud to a fault. It was the cliché identity anyone could recognize, even Ryuuji. He was quite confident the brunette would soon be leaving him out of spite, which would prove Kaiba's actions were partly foreseeable like the rest of humanity, even with all his extra haughty airs.

"Well, then," Ryuuji concluded suddenly before Kaiba could say anything, "I'll leave you now and go find some coffee for myself."

Regrettably enough for Ryuuji, at that moment Kaiba noticed his behavior. The raven-haired associate had excused himself a bit too hastily, and Kaiba, seemingly happy in making other's lives living Hells, saw something was up. He wasn't out to be the biggest jerk in the room, but the idea that Ryuuji was trying to out-think him was insulting enough to invoke the reprisal. What better way to spend a vindictive surge then to do the opposite of what your challenger expects?

"Don't worry, Otogi. I'm free to get you some coffee tomorrow. When's your flight? Surely you can catch Saturday instead?"

Ryuuji gaped wordlessly. His mouth moved, yet he failed to utter any intelligible sound. Kaiba's invitation was unexpected to say the least and for a few moments he was unsure how to respond.

"Demo…."

"Is there a problem?" Kaiba asked smugly, pleased at the affect he'd produced. Ryuuji blinked quickly and sorted his thoughts to his only remaining retaliation.

"No, I'm going Saturday anyway. What time and where?"

It was Kaiba's turn to be startled now, but he had partly expected such a hopeless response. It proved Ryuuji wasn't big on thinking things through the same second they were presented to him. This gave the billionaire a sadistic satisfaction as knew he'd won.

He had been planning to "skip," to "forget" to show up. In the end he had decided it was best to just go get the damn coffee and leave none the worst for wear. His reputation would be unscathed and his point made. If he were lucky, Kaiba wouldn't show. The likelihood of that happening, however, was slim.

So, Ryuuji walked in to the coffee shop mentally cursing him and his failed relationship with fate. He went to his table silent and glaring at everyone nearby. It was Friday; he was supposed to be sleeping in before getting everything ready for re-shipment to Domino. He wasn't supposed to be sitting in a café waiting to kill the next person who gave his chair a quick, probing glance. What were they so interested in? Hadn't they ever seen a guy sit at a table before? His hair and dress were probably to blame, but Ryuuji allowed himself to be ignorant on the fact. He dressed to be notice and suddenly he couldn't stand it. Still, if he hadn't shown wearing something expected, Kaiba would have figured he was truly bothered by the situation. He couldn't give the billionaire that kind of victory. It also wasn't like he'd packed anything less conspicuous than his usual outfits anyways. He'd always have to wear something gaudy and attract a few eyes. The circumstance was really Ryuuji's fault for being so very fond of his clothes. It was something Honda had found out about after a certain accident the week after he'd moved in with the game inventor. Whenever he remembered the event, Ryuuji wondered why, out of all the people he could have chosen to share his apartment and spick 'n span mentality with, he had decided on someone with the grace of a dysfunctional ape and destructive force to match. Honda was also about as orderly as a garbage heap most days to boot, and his roommate found it unnerving. Incredible didn't begin to describe the fact Ryuuji hadn't gone insane (though Honda was inclined to state that if Ryuuji had any future sanity deficiency, it had been lodged a long time _before_ he'd moved in). It wasn't clear whether the mess really even bothered Ryuuji as much as he put on. He still hadn't told Honda to move out.

That wasn't to say he didn't worry about it, though. Though lightly connected to the subject of clothes, it crossed Ryuuji's mind that Kaiba knew about the shared the apartment and was planning on mocking him and his low standards. Ryuuji admitted he was a sucker when it came to friends, a concept Kaiba would probably never understand. Maybe Kaiba suspected something more of the two living together (which certainly wasn't) and wanted to arrange a threat involving ill-founded blackmail? Of course, the media was bound to snatch up and run with such vague evidence that Otogi Ryuuji shared his rent with Honda Hiroto. Who really cared about the facts? It was a selling story once you added a few new details and suspicions. As far as anyone cared, Ryuuji was gay. He could hear it in his head, 'Well, it was so _obvious_, wasn't it? I mean, just _look_ at his clothes and how he acts! This is old news.'

Ryuuji didn't like the situation one bit. Each scenario he could come up with was unnecessarily worse than it's predecessor. He finally gave up all together and began bleakly staring at his surroundings. His eyes fell on the middle of the table where there sat a small toy known to drive many a sophisticated mind to it's extreme: the Rubik's cube.

Now, Ryuuji considered himself well acquainted with cubic objects in general, seeing as dice were a key part of his life. Rubik's cubes weren't, but he assumed he was endowed with the innate ability to solve the puzzle. Since his current frustration needed a vent that didn't involve throwing the table across the room at a certain couple that kept pointing and muttering, he grabbed the puzzle and began turning the faces around. He was irked to discover things happened to be a bit more difficult than he'd anticipated, but continued on anyway. He was determined to match the colors, even if he had no clue to what he was doing. There was more to the shape than moving the sides aimlessly and hoping they came together on their own accord. Ryuuji's hands were nearly trembling as he kept up (the puzzle was, in fact, infuriating him further), but that wasn't an issue. The impossible pattern escaping his recognition was _the_ issue for the moment and nothing could deter him from it.

Well, almost nothing.

"I almost didn't expect to see you here, Otogi."

Through an amazing show of will, Ryuuji _didn't_ throw the Rubik's cube at Kaiba and run off cackling. He was more mature than that (though it was questionable due to what kind of thinking had made him end up in the café in the first place—the idiot café with Rubik's cubes and Barrel of Monkeys on it's too small tables). For a moment, Kaiba and Ryuuji sat there, merrily glaring pilot holes into each other. Both were shocked and annoyed that the person in front of them had even considered showing up. The waitress heading for their table took one look and turned right around, assigning herself to bathroom duty after hours instead.

Finally, Ryuuji relaxed his shoulders and leaned back, an action that helped him assume his usual cocky air as he fiddled with the Rubik's cube in an almost lethargic state of minimal concentration. It seemed he'd decided to forget Kaiba entirely as the businessman glared at him, disgusted. He said with a shrug, "Well, since we're here, you can order me a venté cappuccino. Make it French vanilla too, but not so much of the sugar stuff. Of course, there should be lots of froth on top because, as everyone knows, that's the best part anywhere you go. Don't you agree?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you chose the café and everything. I merely assumed you'd be ordering," Ryuuji said with another offhanded shrug. Ryuuji thought he could have taken acting classes he was so good at a calm, collective appearance. The gigs would have to require that one face, however. Ryuuji could only behave angrily when he was angry, and sad when he was sad. Past that, however, he was perfect for sure.

"All right then," Kaiba agreed, which partly surprised Ryuuji. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because he had expected the billionaire to be more hostile? Instinctively, you didn't expect Kaiba to agree with you. That, or agree to _buy_ you something. Ryuuji looked down at the Rubik's puzzle for a few seconds, trying to justify the answer. He wanted to know why, to see straight through Kaiba and into his head. There was a clandestine reason, and it was going to pounce on him when he least expected it.

Ryuuji said quickly to make up for his brief pause, "Okay, a venté French vanilla with extra foam." As he'd expected and hoped, his thoughts were not revealed. They didn't have to be. He was having a civil enough conversation without trying to riff it with suspicions. Kaiba was being polite enough ordering himself something as well. Ryuuji listened and felt he was being stupid for acting so paranoid. What could Kaiba do? Heck, Kaiba didn't _want_ to do anything. People were strange like that. They'd try to kill you with grief one second, and the next they really didn't care. Ryuuji, happy in the center of attention, wasn't sure which was worst, a battle or a cool indifference. He did not like being ignored.

It didn't take long for the drinks to arrive. With all the nice technologies in the twenty first century, it took a lever and cup to serve what sugar drinks the machine had already made and heated gallons of. That much effort, and a shot of caffeine to top it off. Ryuuji looked at his paper cup with a mental smirk. He wouldn't be drinking half of it. French vanilla, though delicious, made him sick to his stomach after a bit too much. He twiddled longer with the puzzle, grinning inanely. He'd ordered a damn venté? Well, it was Kaiba's money, not his.

"So," he started before things got too quiet, "I imagine people would be talking over coffee. The atmosphere is heavy and musty, but you always seemed so chipper and lighthearted to me. Feel free to say something if you want."

Kaiba frowned, "I don't find your sarcasm all that amusing, baka."

Ryuuji wanted to slap his forehead and holler a 'no-duh' like he had in junior high when someone complained about the obvious. Why would Kaiba find snide remarks about himself entertaining? He was an egotist of the entrepreneurial type. They didn't go for self-derogatory humor. In fact, he probably considered the people with their smart remarks and jokes incompetent. Ryuuji was all right with that. It wasn't like what Kaiba thought actually mattered anyway. What was the guy going to do, name a computer virus after you?

"Well, since you're so unconcerned, I'll just work on this puzzle and finish my cappuccino." Ryuuji said as he went back to the Rubik's cube. His interest with it had declined in his inability to make sense of the solution. For a few moments he was once again furiously moving the squares around, but also trying not to look angry. He didn't want Kaiba to make any smart remarks on how foolish he was to not solve the puzzle and getting angry. Kaiba was watching his effort wordlessly and it was a sever amount of unneeded pressure to Ryuuji.

"You know that's impossible, right?" Kaiba asked. Ryuuji stopped and looked up at him.

"I'm not an idiot. A Rubik's is solvable." He growled. What did Kaiba think he was, five?

Kaiba sneered. "Yes, they are, but not that one."

Ryuuji was waiting for a 'witty' little snap about how he was impossible with everything. "Why not this one, then?" he asked.

"There are ten blue squares and eight greens. It's unbalanced." Kaiba said factually. Ryuuji glowered and resorted to his only method of proving the billionaire wrong. Silently, he began counting squares.

There were ten blue and eight green.

Ryuuji put the cube back down. "Oh," he said blankly, having no other alternative. He was not about to congratulate Kaiba for his observation. He was going to drink his cappuccino and pretend it didn't happen.

Kaiba suddenly grabbed the Rubik cube from the table where Ryuuji had left it. The sullen game inventor watched him, aggravated by what appeared to be Kaiba's confidence that he could solve an impossible Rubik's cube. It would be a very selfish thing to do or consider possible. No one was so gifted as to do _everything_ correctly, least of all Kaiba Seto. Ryuuji was annoyed with the billionaire for even trying. He could have agreed that Kaiba was correct about the squares, but he wasn't about to let himself witness some unthinkable solution where Kaiba arranged the colors by name or in a certain order on each face. He was probably going to substitute a blue for a green and have nearly all the faces match. Since he didn't want to be subjected to the defeat, Ryuuji began stealthily programming his wristwatch to go off in a minute. If he were lucky, Kaiba would take longer than seventy-five seconds to figure out which blue had been incorrectly marked.

Ryuuji sipped his scalding cappuccino as the longest fifteen seconds in the history of the universe finally passed. The alarm in his watch went off on cue and Kaiba looked at it.

"Oh, no! I've got to go meet with the convention coordinator." Ryuuji gasped, standing up with his drink and looking around anxiously, as though he thought the coordinator would be hiding behind a newspaper at one of the tables, ready to scold him for being late. "I've got to go across town and I've got five minutes!"

Kaiba didn't say a word as Ryuuji played his rather convincing role of desperately late manager. Ryuuji muttered a few more excuses, even a casual apology, and was out the door almost instantly. Kaiba smirked when he was gone, confident again with Ryuuji's idiocy. He was a leader who liked to be assured of things, and that was what Ryuuji had just done. Who cared what those idiot birds at the convention said? He saw no immediate threat from D-D-D and Black Clown. There wouldn't be anything to worry about until Ryuuji got his head straight and grew up. Very few people bothered to do so, however. The simplicity of the logic, the running away: it was all immaturity at it finest. Kaiba grinned. He felt comfortably older. He always did after challenging someone as clueless as Otogi Ryuuji.

As far as Honda cared, Ryuuji had gotten on the plane screaming and gone hoarse halfway over the Pacific. He didn't say anything until he reached the apartment. There, his glare smoldered the surrounding furniture.

"Why the _hell_ are there plastic cups and wrappers on the floor, Hiroto? _All_ over my beautiful floor? Please explain before I hurt you."

Ryuuji had said this almost calmly, and it was better than screaming. If the raven-haired teen were near the verge of bursting a vein, Honda would have found the will in him somewhere to laugh and not take the words seriously. But, Ryuuji wasn't screaming, he was glaring and looking across the apartment in mute, horrified wonder. He'd probably expected such a presentation when he arrived home, but there had been a small seed of hope that Honda would clean up after himself for once.

"Uh, I was hungry." Honda answered almost smartly. He took a quick look at Ryuuji's frustrated expression and cringed, "Ano… I'll be cleaning it up."

Ryuuji nodded at this, "Good." It suddenly occurred to him to check the computer room. Almost mechanically, he turned and headed down the hall, Honda in close pursuit when he would have been better off bolting the other direction.

The scene in the room wasn't what Ryuuji expected. It was worse.

"What did you do, _live_ in here for a week?" He asked and shocked disbelief. His eyes traveled over the fast food wrappers and crumbs, but he wasn't allowing himself to absorb the enormity of it all. One man left to his own defenses couldn't possibly come up with such a mess, could he? No, there had to be another reason. Someone had most likely dropped a bomb in the room, a bomb that exploded in garbage. That was it. That explained everything without cause for bloodshed.

"Er… it's not that bad. Just a few things need to be straightened up and the place will be pristine," Honda said optimistically, though it was clear he didn't believe a damn word. Ryuuji wished the brunette would quit flapping his mouth and allow his roommate to come to terms with the situation. He was doing a favor by not trying to accept everything, but apparently Honda wanted to take his suffering. That was the only excuse for why his mouth kept moving with blindly cheerful views, saying stupid things that certainly weren't going to produce a positive result, "I mean, it's only a few bits of trash here and there. I think I actually did quite well for a week without your robotic cleaning regimen behind me. The apartment is quite sanitary—"

"Compared to what?" Ryuuji snapped, his displeasure growing at Honda's every word, "Sanitary compared to what? A pigsty? A nuclear explosion?" Honda's mouth now moved wordlessly as Ryuuji waved his suitcase about, emphasizing his mood with a few violent swings. Honda could hear the luggage thudding lifelessly inside and rattling on pockets. There was a loud clunk as something small and dense hit the floor. Curious and distracted, Honda looked down at the Rubik's cube.

The puzzle was solved. Honda stared at it mutely for a few seconds as Ryuuji tried to realize what happened and why his audience was suddenly unaffected. The brunette reached down quickly and grabbed the cube, studying the even faces. There were too many blues. One was on the green face to make the whole thing come together. The whole solution looked impossible, but it'd been done. Honda stood still and silent watching it. The odd compulsion to start twisting the puzzle around and distorting the order came over him. It was natural. People couldn't stand to see a solved Rubik's cube, as it unnerved them. It made you wonder who had the kind of time to be doing something like that anyway. Did the person have a life? It also left one feeling inadequate, lesser than the person who'd concentrated and put the colors right. How come others could solve the mysterious cube while all you could do was twist the faces around aimlessly? It wasn't right. It was insulting. The one accomplishment you did not show off was a Rubik's cube because it would drive your audience into an insane depression and hatred. Why weren't _they_ able to do that too? Unfair!

"Nice…." Honda finally said, turning the figure around again. Ryuuji glared at him and snatched it back. The brunette looked at his empty hands and then turned to Ryuuji, "Hey, what was that for?"

Ryuuji didn't answer. He brought his arm back and hurled the cube across the apartment. It clunked stupidly into the wall and tumbled under the couch. Honda gave the cube one last despairing look before restating his question. Maybe Ryuuji would throw him behind the couch too. Was that even possible? "What was that for?" he asked.

"I don't want to see that damn thing."

Honda considered adding a smart remark along the lines of 'Well, there goes cleaning under the couch! I bet the dust bunnies are happy, especially with that cool new Rubik's cube,' but he didn't say it. Ryuuji's current mood promised death or worse if Honda tried to be sarcastic. He wasn't going to find it funny. Honda would, but he'd be unconscious before he could laugh in his supreme wit. Therefore, instead of making things more difficult, the brunette allowed himself to be curious. It was strange that Ryuuji didn't want to see his own puzzle, so he asked about it, "Why don't you want to admire your Rubik cube? I mean you _did_ solve it yourself, right?"

Honda had no idea what he'd said was probably more lethal than the comments he'd been avoiding. Ryuuji was ready to adhere to his sudden whims, which mainly involved killing his roommate, at the question. What right did Honda have to know that much?

"I just don't want to see it. It's not mine."

Despite Ryuuji's sour mood, Honda was intrigued. He wanted to know everything, but he wasn't quite sure if he should ask. Still trying (and failing) to remain neutral, he asked what seemed to him to be another reasonable question, "Who solved the Rubik's cube then? A guy on the plane?"

"Iya," Ryuuji answered, frowning.

"Was it a girl? I never imagined you'd be the type of person to feel bad when beaten by a woman, Ryuuji. Are you sexist? It looks like I don't know too much about you, then."

"No, it wasn't a girl, baka." Ryuuji snapped.

"Then was it…?" Honda's voice faltered as he tried to find a word and failed, "Or were you not sure?"

Ryuuji couldn't believe Honda's idiocy. "BAKATARE!" he screamed. Honda winced. Ryuuji's voice had returned to rectify its owner's position in the conversation, and it was on the verge of earsplitting. Honda wondered why people weren't running in and attacking. Ryuuji must've woken up the entire neighborhood.

"It was not the transsexual transvestite from Transylvania {F} either! It was Kaiba Seto," Ryuuji snapped. Honda blinked for a few seconds, having a protracted flash of realization. Ryuuji waited impatiently for the brunette to have his moment before continuing.

"You happy now?" he asked callously, walking over to the computer desk and sitting down. He growled softly at the chair as he lowered the seat and readjusted the back. Honda simply stood where he'd been left in the doorway. His mind was elsewhere; trying to discern why Kaiba solving a Rubik's cube angered Ryuuji.

"What's so bad about that? Why are you so angry?"

Ryuuji looked at Honda like the reason was painfully obvious and someone had to be an idiot not to get it. "Because _I_ couldn't solve it," he told the brunette, "And he didn't have to send it to me after he solved the stupid thing. He didn't have to brag and be a pain in the ass about his pathetic accomplishment."

Honda nodded, "I see why you're angry, you have good reason the be, but why _so_ angry? I mean, what does it accomplish?"

Ryuuji didn't like the intelligent enough answer. It made sense, and he was willing to act like it didn't. He reminded himself how moronic Honda was, how irrelevant his assertions were.

"I'm angry because Kaiba is such a baka."

"Do you think he really cares?"

"Sure, after I kill him."

"You wouldn't."

"Open your mouth again and I'll close it for you."

"You're so immature."

"I'm not screaming at you."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"I'm calm."

"Really? Why's your eye twitching?"

Ryuuji frowned and shot a die at the brunette's forehead. Honda yelped and fled. Ryuuji listened to him in the other room before he angrily turned on his computer, almost scared to see what Honda had done to it. He was shocked to discover nothing much had changed past the e-mail Honda had sent to San Francisco. It was almost upsetting for him. He wanted another excuse to be furious with the brunette and the computer failed to offer him one. He had been insulted and he wanted the enemy to suffer.

"Are you plotting your revenge or something?" Honda asked from the door.

"Damare." Ryuuji was surprised the brunette had the audacity to show up again. Hadn't he learned the raven-haired teen was a perfect shot?

"Maybe you ought to grow up?"

"If you don't leave, I'll hurt you."

"I'm terrified."

Ryuuji sighed and frowned at Honda, "Will you _please_ leave me alone?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Ryuuji held up a die Honda backed away, "I'm gone!"

Ryuuji turned back to his computer. He preoccupied himself with deleting everything sent to his inbox. Who wanted to read about hybrid games nobody wanted? People went crazy and desperate for original ideas, so they failed to realize how pathetic their inventions really were. Ryuuji, therefore, had to remain objective. He wouldn't let something like roulette/Go Fish out with his stamp of approval. That would be embarrassing. Despite what people liked to think, Ryuuji wasn't a complete idiot. He knew better.

"Just a question: Why did Kaiba send you a Rubik cube? Was there a point or something I missed?"

Ryuuji sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking across the ruined office at the brunette who had turned out to have self-destructive leanings. Honda had the Rubik's cube in his hands and was studying it again, awing over how anyone could figure it out. He waited patiently for Ryuuji to answer the question or shoot dice at him. The raven-haired game inventor smirked. The situation was actually quite hilarious when he considered it rationally.

"I couldn't solve it. Kaiba's just showing off because he can. I think it's immature."

Honda grinned and began twisting the cube out of order, "Ch'. Why can't everyone just grow up already?" He tried to reorganize the cube and frowned, "....doohickey." {F}

----------------

**Notes:**

{A}: Fyi, there is absolutely no evidence to prove that statement. I'm just being an ass. ::people driving by glare at Ego through the window and dare her to find an alternative power source sitting on her bum in front of the computer:: Exactly.

{B}: It's Saturday evening. He leaves Sunday, but it will be the same date Sunday when he reaches California because of the International Dateline (the world turns counterclockwise) and how long it takes to travel. He'll be in San Francisco for six days (the convention being Tues-Thurs added with two extra days for a pre-convention seminar (Monday) and to socialize (Friday)), and he starts his return trip on Saturday; only back in Domino it would be Sunday when he arrived. Ergo, he will be gone for a week, even if he is away from home eight days. ::sings old Beatles hits:: "Eight days a week! Ooooh!" (you know I only did this so I could sing the song). Oh yes, and gomen if I'm terribly wrong here. I am soo not going into time zones.

{C}: Gah, I hate messing with time zones! Gomen, I gave Otogi a six-hour flight because I felt like speeding the fic up. ::sticks her tongue out obnoxiously and dances in circles, even if sixteen would have been more appropriate because it's like, realsitic O.o:: If his flight leaves at 7am Sunday and at the same time it's 11pm Saturday in California, he'll reached San Francisco at 5am the same Sunday. He lost Monday, but he got to sleep on the plane and in his hotel after he arrived, ergo, successfully avoiding jet lag in the worst. ::smart move:: Two evenings prior therefore means Monday evening and the initial Saturday evening argument. This is not including the lost Monday evening because I just don't look at it all that way and, "three evenings prior" sounds too distant. ::clueless already:: If I'm mistaken, let me know—besides the six hour flight (I was initially going for a sixteen hour and got too confused ::has issues with the number sixteen::). That is, if you even care…. ::is terrible with planning flights:: I's can only do so much before my brain gives out.

{D}: Russian Hill has Lombard Street, and is possibly my favorite because of the nice gardening on the descent. Of course, Louisiana's highest point, Mt. Driskill, is really just a hill—and not even a very tall one at that. But even so, they call it _Mount_ Driskill. ::pathetic:: We also have better King Cakes and Mardi Gras parades, so there! ::ignores the fact she hasn't lived here forever::

{E}: If you gotta know, I'm thinking gaming convention here with booths and such. 'Convention' can be a vague term if taken the wrong way and mixed with personal ideals of what a convention is. My mother goes to conventions where I'm positive the preferred term would be "talks" or "recluse corner of Hell." It's a bunch of workshops I get the pleasure of viewing from the hallway between slamming my head into the wall and touring the bathrooms.

{F}: If you don't know, I'm not gonna explain. ::grins::

{G}: Doohickey: thing-a-ma-what's-it, doodad, thingamabob, huh-wah?, thingamajig (hey, some people don't know that! ::blinks:: Like everyone in my English class…). I haven't heard too many adults use this word with the seriousness of most young children.

**Endnote:** Though this fic had been in my computer for over two months, if you add up the hours I actually spent paying attention, I finished it in two days. Man, is my time spread thin or what? ::grin:: No, I just have terrible concentration.

::blinks at all her paragraphs:: Erm, gomen. This turned out real long…. ::is ambushed by her term paper and a pen:: NOOOOOO!

Ling no Yong


End file.
